Design Defined: In Praise of the Porch

On an early April day 10 years ago, I stood peering over miles of horse fencing, standing transfixed in the rain on a muddy roadside. Before me, 15 or more new foals gathered the courage to find their feet as the band of broodmares taught their young to run and keep close. It was mesmerizing. With every halt and turn, or rear and playful kick delivered by their mothers, the foals instinctively maintained their mirroring formation.

The deep, muddy grass and soft rain conspired to complicate the game just enough for a little one to take a good long slide with legs splayed. Before I could finish looking around for the help I assumed the tiny horse might need, she was back on her feet, her mother softly nipping at her untamed mane.

To the north, long past the fields dotted with horses, a familiar shape cut through the mist. No doubt a devoted onlooker was keeping a close watch while seated beneath the high gable of the distinctive porch. I immediately imagined the scene: rocking chairs, binoculars, a table with iced tea, maybe a radio, a roof overhead, and hardwood floors below, all contained within a decorative rail over which to hang their muddy boots. It was a beautiful porch, a wraparound porch — the quintessential American porch.

The joy of ever happening upon another afternoon’s antics of 15 foals remains too much for me to hope for. Yet I know I am not alone when I disclose that I came away from that day with one very serious case of porch envy.

When asked, those fortunate enough to have a porch agree with my impression that neither a terrace nor a patio nor a deck is quite the same as a good-old-fashioned porch. To attain authentic porch status, three imperatives are non-negotiable.

First, and probably most importantly, a porch must be attached to the main house. If it’s necessary to step onto the grass or walk unprotected overhead to get to it, the structure in question is not a porch. This inside/outside relationship that exists between a house and its porch creates the feeling of being in a protected space. It’s no small thing either that we can simply waltz outside in our slippers, morning coffee in hand, or carry on a conversation with those who remain inside the house. The attachment is just that — a true extension of indoor activity, only better because it’s being enjoyed out of doors.

Shelter magazines are busy instilling new language in the lexicon for a bona fide porch, proffering the term “outdoor spaces.” I have owned homes with outdoor spaces. A freestanding pergola placed atop paving is an outdoor space, as is a converted greenhouse, a poolside deck, a paved seating area overlooking a lovely vista, or a fabricated structure of any kind with a floor and a roof, which is not attached to a house. I have a shed with a porch, and a house with a terrace, a deck and a dock, and while these could all be described as outdoor spaces, none is a porch.

A porch must have a roof overhead. This second requirement is as non-negotiable as a porch’s connection to the house. Efforts to outfit outdoor spaces in keeping with an honest-to-goodness porch are easy to accomplish. Thanks to all-weather fabrics, which are both waterproof and sun resistant, it’s a snap to create a porch-like atmosphere just about anywhere we choose. I love the idea of setting up an outdoor room under the canopy of a big old tree, and it’s equally effective to make any outdoor seating area feel grounded and cozy by finishing the scene with a great big umbrella. But all describe an outdoor space, and are not at all the same as a beautifully conceived, old-fashioned American porch.

This brings me to number three on the list of porch requirements: A comfortable porch must have at least a few soft furnishings, accessories or elements of some kind that are considered wholly an indoor element. Mirrors are trendy on the porch, and colorful pillows, painted furniture and reading materials complemented by some lighting are lovely on the porch as well. Other furnishings that are troubling in outdoor spaces include rugs and old wicker or furniture with soft or down-filled cushions. It’s a special moment to sit outside on something that for all practical purposes really belongs inside the house.

Because of my personal adherence to rule number three, every May, when my porch lust really gets going and I’m anxious to have my breakfast in my slippers, my husband will faithfully drag my favorite non-waterproof chair out to the lawn. Placing this beside a small metal table under our old maple tree, he brings a side table and erects a small umbrella in an ad hoc umbrella stand. Smiling at his own ingenuity, he then proclaims in the style of an English gentleman: “Your porch, my dear.”

In the far distance, I take a mental measure and calculate the lumber order for the porch my old farmhouse is lacking. Watching my own horses play while I sip my morning coffee, I’m reminded life offers greater pleasures than a breakfast enjoyed on my idea of a proper porch. And, for the most part, provided it’s not a rainy day in May, I’m happy enough to be outside.